


Shattered Stars

by tatooineknights



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 04:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooineknights/pseuds/tatooineknights
Summary: A collection of short drabbles written during October (affectionately referred to as Whumptober) that chronicle the life of Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader throughout the events of the Original Trilogy.
Relationships: Lando Calrissian & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 70





	1. Delirium

The pulse in his left wrist was almost as constant as the throbbing stump of his right arm. Sweat slicked through his fingers and glided along the metal rod, creating a sinister slip that was teasing him to let go. Luke was almost a point where he wanted to fall - to give in to that tantalizing taunt that the universe seemed to shout with each failure. 

There was something magical and thrilling as he fell from the catwalk deep inside the body of Cloud City; almost as if his tortuous agony withered as he sunk into the bottomless chamber, the emotional pain of Vader’s revelation paused, the dull throbbing of his arm disappeared, the guilt and anguish of his life’s lie empty out from his soul. It was only when he was still that those scars resurfaced. 

He called for Leia and he sensed, somehow, that his friend had heard his call. She was on his way to his rescue. Did he deserve to be rescued? If Vader’s words were true, was his very existence only going to cause his friends more anguish? Maybe it would be better if he simply closed his eyes.

But that didn’t work either - instead of finding peace, he saw the repeated vision of Vader’s lightsaber spinning his own, darkness and light dancing until the light lost his footing. Luke kept noticing his regret, his eyes catching the floating panel behind him instead of focusing on Vader’s attack, watching as he lost his hand again and again. Then Vader hissed those terrible words that would haunt him for the rest of his life; Luke would rather hear his bloodcurdling scream a thousand times before hearing Vader speak those words.

“I am your father.”

His eyes opened, tears clouding the normally vibrant blues that eagerly took in the world around him. Below him, light shimmered out of the clouds. The wind that was thrashing against him increased with great intensity - begging for his release. His vision was too blurred to tell what was below him. Was it Leia there to save him from instant doom? Or was it his mind telling him to give up before it all became that much worse? 

What was it?

He was tired. Shock was creeping into his body and he knew that he couldn’t hold on much longer; with a heavy sigh, he let go of the metal pole and allowed himself to go crashing into the depths below. Either grace or damnation would greet him either way and he was prepared for their call.

As he fell toward the beaming light, Luke saw arms reach for him and grab him by the waist. He wasn’t sure who it was - at this point, he could barely see - but he wrapped his own arms around this figures neck, quietly choking back sobs into the figure that saved his life.

“I got him,” the figure whispered.

It was a man. Luke let out an exhausted groan of relief, suddenly noticing the distinctive details of the Millennium Falcon’s hatch. Fate delivered him from evil - he was safe. “Thank you,” he pleaded to both the man and fate, recollecting himself as they were both drawn inside the stomach of the Falcon.

“Thank you.”


	2. Isolation

Two months had passed since Han Solo had been captured.

Two months had passed since Luke lost his hand and lightsaber.

Two months had passed since Vader revealed he was his father.

It wasn’t getting any easier as time moved on – he had tried to absorb himself into anything and everything that could take his mind off of his problem. Luke put all his effort into his physical therapy at the medical center, hoping that learning to recover physically would help him learn to recover emotionally. He taught himself not to grip too tightly with this new hand of his, as it was much stronger than his former flesh, and soon could block out the remaining phantom pain where cybernetic material met vessels and bone; maybe if he worked hard enough, he could forget that his own father severed his arm and rendered him completely defenseless and without the symbol he stood by.

It didn’t.

Leia and Lando were preoccupied setting up the stage for Han’s eventual rescue. The Alliance loyally gave Luke everything he ever wanted in terms of leave, hoping that he could get stronger in the Force and find a new lightsaber in the meanwhile. Or, if things didn’t turn out well, he could always hop back into an X-Wing and join his other friends in Rogue Squadron. Anything that could boost morale.

A depressed would-be Jedi actively harmed their cause.

But they had no idea who he was – and even if he told them, they could never understand it. Most of them wouldn’t believe him, and those who did believe, would call for his active resignation and potential prison sentence as a traitor. When Luke looked into the mirror, he didn’t see himself anymore. His sweet and youthful blue eyes were bloodshot and drooped, his hair overgrown and unkempt. Where his lips once turned up into a toothy grin, they were now replaced by a mournful frown.

_Luke_.

That didn’t help either – the youth wasn’t sure whether it was purposeful or on accident but ever since their fateful duel on Bespin, Vader could probe his mind and implant words into his ears: mostly vagues calls of his name and hoping that Luke would eventually respond. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Luke grumbled as he slumped down into his bed. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a vague dampness of sweat building on his scalp. “At least, not yet.”

Everyone else was too afraid to call out to him. They wanted to give him space, sure, he understood that. But how he wished someone would grab him by the shoulders and just throttle him, shouting and yelling at him until he was forced to spill his guts. He knew that under other circumstances, Leia would have been the one to do that to him. She would have slapped this depression right out of him. But she was fighting her own demons, her own thankless battles.

He wished he could help her.

He wished someone could help him.


	3. Tear-Stained

Leia’s arms wrapped around his neck, her hands tightly kneading his wet hair. Everything started to feel safe again - comforting. Luke allowed himself to sink into her embrace and rest his face into her shoulder. Muffled sobs choked out from his hoarse throat, celebrating his own miraculous rescue while mourning the loss of everything that he had believed in. 

He had tried so hard not to cry in the last hour - when he lost his hand, he bit down on his tongue so strongly that it bled, fighting back the tears that welled in his eyes and refusing to let them stream down his face. When death seemed almost certain as he looked straight into the endless chasm of Bespin, he was able to keep his emotions in check, if only to sustain himself. It was only when Vader said those four words - the four words that seemed to rattle inside his head with every second and echo with greater intensity - that he lost control of himself. **Everything** was lost. The dreams of a dashing knight avenging his former master and saving his friends was turned on its head; the only lightsaber he ever knew was gone, his pride murdered, and that single image of a kindly and gallant father which inspired him every day was vanquished. 

“It’ll be alright, Luke.”

How could it ever be alright? Here was he was, his face buried deep into her shoulder, knowing that he was the spawn of her greatest enemy. With every great act that he’d commit, he would have the face of evil hunt them down with just as much great terror. Luke couldn’t bear to look at her in the eye - not yet. “He didn’t tell me,” was all Luke could respond, his voice cracking in shock. No one told him. Obi-Wan, Yoda. 

**Why didn’t they tell him?**

Luke lifted his face from her shoulder as he started to walk forward. The river of tears that spilled from his eyes stained the white of her shoulder into a muddled grey. He was suddenly aware of those surrounding him - this new friend, Lando, Chewie, Threepio, and Artoo. They were all looking to him, wondering what horror ravaged his damaged soul. He needed to escape their curious eyes.

He slunk forward and followed Leia, away from everyone else. He could only hope to walk away from the grave reality Vader had thrust onto him - it was futile. But he was battered, drained, and ready to close his eyes; nightmares would await him the second he was lulled to sleep but even that could only be better than the reality he was living. He just wanted to go back, live his life as the training Jedi. The hero of the Rebellion. Commander Luke Skywalker.

Unfortunately for him, that naive life would never return.


	4. Numb

All was quiet aboard the Millennium Falcon. The familiar hum of hyperspace filled the audible silence between each room; in the cockpit, an uncomfortable distance was held between Lando Calrissian and Chewbacca, them both acknowledging the other’s presence as they piloted the vessel but unwilling to speak outside of that. The two droids, themselves facing a great beating in the last week, were powered down in the main room, blissfully away from all that had transpired. They were all so distant yet near.

Luke looked at Leia. The Princess sat in a chair next to him in the quaint room they shared, her head nestled in her hands. Sweet snores escaped her lips as she shivered from the cold of space. He saw so much pain lingering in her brow as she slumbered, the faint smear of makeup streamed down her cheeks from tears that had since been shed. “Oh, Leia,” whispered Luke, sitting up from his bed. With his left hand, he took the worn blanket he’d been using and awkwardly tried placing it on her, hoping to help her get warm. 

He couldn’t imagine what she’d been through.

Bacta freely flowed through his open veins on account of the auto-tourniquet strapped to his right arm, blue liquid pumping through one tube as his own blood rushed through another. Luke was no longer cold - he fumbled his way out of his jacket and walked out into the hanger of the Falcon. His vision was blurred from a mixture of shock and the medication. The sick trickle of imminent death had left his body and replaced him with a disturbed feeling of nothingness. 

Luke walked over to Artoo and smiled weakly at his friend. He reached down to pet his friend with his right - oh. Right. His hand was gone. The youth laughed at himself for somehow forgetting that: he could blissfully omit being maimed from his mind but not the emotional shell-shocking experience of Vader’s words? He almost wished that he _could_ feel the pain from his arm over what Vader did to him afterwords; at least that pain could make him feel like he was still alive. That he was still Luke Skywalker despite it all.

He rested the auto-tourniquet onto the droid, pushing with what little strength remained in his arm, hoping for some kind of agony that could take his mind off of the psychological anguish. Nothing - nothing but the heavy beating pulse. There weren’t any more tears for him to release, no more choked sobs to let out. His eyes were pink and tired, his throat sore and shot. 

Why couldn’t he feel anymore? Why was everything numb? 

“Skywalker,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Luke turned around to see Lando Calrissian walking out of the cockpit. He gave a reassured nod toward the man, vaguely remembering that he was the one that saved his life. Lando walked toward him, carefully putting his arm around his neck. “Uh, Luke, I mean. What are you doing out here? You should be resting. And wondering around in just that shirt, you’re probably freezing.”

“I’m not feeling cold.”

“Right,” Lando said, unwilling to argue against Luke’s decision. Instead, he started to lead Luke down to a bench and carefully sat him down on it. “Well, in that case, how about we sit over here? We can both relax a little. Get our mind off of things. I could use the conversation and I feel like you could too. Chewbacca isn’t quite in the talking mood. “

“I don’t know much about talking,” Luke said honestly, wrapping his arms together over his chest. He bit down on his lip and looked at the man, noting the concern in his eyes. Why did they look at him like that? Imagine the disdain that he would get if they knew the **truth**: that it was his father that sent Han to the uncertain fate of carbonite, that is was his father that stole Cloud City from him. Luke struggled to look at him in the eyes again. He sighed and felt a huge weight burdening down on his chest, sinking him down. He owed it to hear this man out. If he couldn’t comfort himself, he could at least try to comfort him.

“But I’ll hear you out,” Luke said, an assuring smile on his face.


	5. Stitches

Luke stood still as damp moisture clung upon his exposed skin. Space gave him the thrill of adventure that he always sought as a young boy but it also gave him a terrible chill - the empty nothingness of space was a cold freeze compared to the scorching heat of Tatooine. How he survived those months on Hoth were beyond him (he actually layered himself up with briefs, thermal underwear for both top and bottom, his commanding fatigues, and his snow gear - but even that wasn’t enough for a farmboy not used to snow). 

The past week aboard the Redemption had served him well. Lingering phantom pain in his arm still existed but he was getting used to the prosthesis quicker than the doctors thought he would. He had to; Han was waiting for him. One of the things Luke enjoyed about the Redemption was that it had a sonic, where moisture helped clean the grime and filth instead of solid water. That reminded him of his home: his job on the farm, Aunt Beru folding his clothes after a long day of work, Uncle Owen leading them to a warm meal, the many adventures he shared with the few friends he had. That Luke - Wormie - was still inside somewhere inside that shaggy head of his. 

But a part of that boy felt like he was gone. 

Luke raised his right arm and flexed his mechanical hand. No one else would be able to tell the difference between synthetic and flesh: but he could. The freckle on his index finger was missing and his middle finger no longer curved to the right like it once did. His grip was stronger than it used to be; he accidentally broke quite a few supplies in therapy at first as he learned to adept to the prosthesis. He looked further down to his forearm and frowned.

There was a noticeable scar right where machine met flesh, one that was still healing though most wouldn’t have the opportunity to see it. It wasn’t where he had lost his hand - no, that was too jagged and unclean for the procedure. They had to remove more of his arm when he agreed that he wanted a replacement. Luke closed his right hand into a fist: faint stitches twitched and twisted along with the wiring underneath. He unflexed his hand and touched himself, cold at how naked and foreign he felt. This wasn’t him but, in fact, it was him.

Who is Luke Skywalker?

The Wormie (how he hated that nickname growing up but now he wished someone would gently tease him with it) of Tatooine that shot blaster rifles, the one that piloted many a ship in the wastes, all with his right hand were missing. The lightsaber that once comfortably rested in his grasp was gone too. The only remnant he had of his father - **father**. Luke shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to shake out those thoughts as best he could. He wasn’t ready to wrestle with _those_ stitches just yet. 

“He’s more machine now than man,” Obi-Wan had once said to him. That thought made him want to vomit; suddenly, he looked at his arm in disgust. Was he going to lose Wormie? Would he eventually lose Luke, too, and become the monster that Vader turned into? Would he become his **father**?

“No.”

The heat of the sonic never felt so cold to Luke before.


	6. Shackled

The two men exited the small shuttle, where swaths of white-garbed stormtroopers gawked and stared at the sight. Vader towered over them all, as he had always done, but their attention was fixed on the diminutive young man that stood at his side. He looked like a child compared to the imposing figure that they all knew and feared - they noted that his wrists were tightly restrained. The young man felt the bindings dig in deep into his skin (or, rather, dig too deep into the circuitry of his right hand) and tried his best to ignore that uncomfortable sensation. He walked with his chin up and his chest proudly leading on. 

There were whispers within the hanger of the Death Star II. 

One stormtrooper was almost completely certain that this boy was none other than that rebel Luke Skywalker. Others disagreed, noting how different his face and hair was compared to the official portrait that was plastered all over Imperial bases throughout the galaxy (and especially decorated throughout the undercity of Coruscant; shown primarily as a warning but taken as a sign of achievement and interest to those lowly dwellers). Another trooper cleverly noted that his right hand was carefully covered by a black glove - that aligned with the well-known tale of Darth Vader’s encounter with Skywalker on Cloud City.

Luke sensed their interest. As he walked closer to the Hanger’s exit, he glanced at the Stormtrooper whose thoughts were filled with wild intrigue. The youth pulled back the black glove just enough to show the exposed wiring underneath, if only for a second, to confirm the fears inside their heads. 

Luke Skywalker, the hero of the Rebellion, was inside the Death Star II with both Darth Vader and their Emperor. The crowds were rightfully hushed at the sight - regardless of however Skywalker was captured, this was certain to not be any ordinary battle. Vader and the Jedi left them to their own silence.


	7. Shaky Hands

The scent of burnt wiring filled him as he looked down at his father, his hands trembling as rage swept through the very core of his being. Through the smoke and his own glazed eyes, Luke Skywalker saw the sad remnant of Darth Vader lying on his back, his remaining hand raised in defeat. 

Hatred made his blood thick with vengeance in that moment - all the years of pent up frustration and anger unleashed through a quick slice into the Sith Lord’s wrist. The slaughter of his aunt and uncle, the murder of his mentor, his own maiming that rendered him without the lightsaber he coveted so dearly; all of those memories came flooding back to Luke.

_You did this_.

“Good,” Luke heard from behind him. He turned to face the ghostly apparition of the Emperor, whom loomed over them both like a sinister shadow. A sickly smile preyed upon the Emperor’s lips, his eyes relishing in delight at Luke’s sudden fall. Even though Luke had just beaten the figure that he had always despised, he felt a new terror rise as the Emperor stepped forward. 

“Good. Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father’s place at my side.”

The youth looked away from the Emperor and instead focused his eyes on Darth Vader - or, rather, the husk of what remained. Luke sensed that Vader had been defeated: instead, the man that lay motionless on the floor was his father. Smoke still rose from Vader’s stump - the stench of the wound made Luke tremble. As the smoke began to clear away, he saw electrical wires and circuitry exposed from Vader’s arm. 

Luke raised his own right arm, his eyes widening as he looked at his gloved mechanical hand. The same circuits and mechanical wiring existed within his prosthesis, though it remained hidden. He could have sworn that his right hand shook as he flexed his hand into a fist - he remembered losing his hand, the unbearable agony, the wrath that stormed through his head at the end of that fateful duel. The Dark Side would lead him down a similar path: though he was born from Vader, or Anakin as Luke would remind himself, he was his own man.

His father was a victim to this horrible sickness in the Force - not his villain.

With a resolute sigh, Skywalker turned off his lightsaber. His chest tightened as he heard the Emperor go completely silent, the hall echoed only by the sound of Vader’s labored breathing. This might be his final moment - but it was going to be one that would be remembered. He was a Jedi, like his father before him.


	8. Pinned Down

Vader was thrust to the ground, a mechanical groan exiting his mask as he heard the cybernetic prosthesis he called a hand tumble off into the reactor below. There was barely any pain - just a frustrated roar of agonized defeat. The boy towered over him with venom in his eyes, golden fire encircling blueish hues reflecting his own sorry sight. It had been a long time since Vader saw such disgust in himself - to get to where he was now. 

_Luke crumpled to the floor of the catwalk, his own blood-curdling scream still echoing around the vast expanse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lightsaber deactivate and fall into the chasm with what used to be his hand. The immediate pain was excruciating but it was the dull ache that followed that made him want to vomit. The Sith Lord stood over him like a looming angel of death, his scarlet saber pointed right at him. His own reflection looked back at him through that dark husk of a mask. _

He had lost control over his son. The goal was to lure him into the Dark Side just enough that they could both strike the Emperor down. This sick and twisted relationship he had with Palpatine was dominating and ruined him, it wasn’t a path he wanted for his child. Luke’s lips were trembling and his hands shook as the green weapon inched closer to his chest. If his death was at the hands of his own son, then it probably wasn’t the worst way his life could end. After all, what father wasn’t proud of his child becoming greater than himself? 

_The boy couldn’t stop cursing at himself in his head, replaying the events in his head over and over. If he had just kept his eye on Vader and not glanced at that floating panel, if he had kept both hands on the lightsaber instead of letting go to balance himself, maybe he would still be fighting. Maybe he would still have a lightsaber. “There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you,” hissed Vader. All he could feel was disgust - disgust at his own failure and disgust at this monster that had taken from him everything he had ever lived: a master, a father._

If only Luke could avoid the Emperor. Vader recalled how easily his tormented heart was broken and shattered, how he feared the lengths Palpatine would go to ruin his child. “Your hate has made you powerful,” the Emperor grinned, his gleeful goading hurting Vader all the more. He hated the Emperor - he hated him for what he did to his life. Why did his inevitable betrayal still sting so much? Senator Palpatine was once like a father to him, where Obi-Wan was his brother. The chains and bindings within whatever remained of his heart labored as he once did on Tatooine. The cycle would repeat it itself once again, with Luke replacing him as the guardian knight of darkness. “Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father’s place at my side.” 

_Distance. That was all that mattered to the wounded Jedi. He had to create as much artificial distance as he could, anything to free him from a moment’s torment. “If you only knew the power of the Dark Side,” Vader warned, his left hand extended into an almighty fist. Luke knew all about that terrible power - how much it could easily corrupt and twist someone into another being entirely. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,” the Sith Lord finished, hinting at some greater truth. This infuriated Luke. How dare he bring up his former master, the man he murdered? He could feel his brow furl and his lips turn into a sick grin as he decided to challenge his statement: “He told me enough. He told me you killed him.”_

“Never,” Vader finally heard from above. The green haze ahead of him slowly dimmed away as Luke deactivated the weapon. He gasped as his son threw the lightsaber to the ground, the sound of it rattling against the solid metal filling the void of silence between the three men. The fool! He had warned Luke of the great powers that the Emperor possessed - even with a lightsaber, the boy was little threat to him. Without one and he was essentially asking for a death sentence. What was he thinking? His child walked away from Vader and toward the Emperor, his small frame heaving as he approached certain death. He realized that Luke had spared him: after all the pain he had given him - torturing his friends, maiming him, luring him to the Dark Side - his son chose forgiveness. “I’ll never turn to the Dark Side. You’ve failed, your highness. I am a Jedi. Like my father before me.”

_“I am your father,” he said. What? What could that even mean? His father was a brave Jedi Knight, one of the most heroic men in the entire galaxy. Words of denial escaped his dry lips, heaps of disdain and horror spilled out with each breath. His father couldn’t have killed his own master and friend, he couldn’t have ordered his aunt and uncle murdered, he couldn’t harm his own child. But a moment of total clarity suddenly flooded into Luke: he could suddenly see the eyes underneath that mask and saw his own eyes reflect back. The vision in the cave. The truth. Bubbling tears that Skywalker had tried so hard to hide away were streaming down his face - all he could do was let out one final cry of despair as the truth sunk down his soul to the pit of his stomach._

Vader was never more proud of his son.

_Luke wanted to forget his father ever existed. _


	9. Hallucination

The lightning jolted his body back and forth, rippling through his nerves and filling the room with the sickly smell of burning skin. Luke was on the floor now - he tried so hard to hold onto the railing - and the Emperor’s torment rose to sadistic measures. Smoke hung above him like a black cloud of death and ash decorated the black suit. Through his tear-stained eyes, he could see his father standing over him, watching him as he screamed. 

“Father, please!”

The Emperor’s lightning lashed out at his plea, as if it were infuriated by him calling out for the flame he _knew_ was rekindled inside Anakin Skywalker. This was the moment to shed Vader - Luke went in knowing that he would either save his father or die in the process. But he had to do this. Not just for his father but for himself - for those decades worth of memories that he worshiped, for the man that he knew his father used to be, the one that inspired him to be good.

He couldn’t open his eyes anymore; the pain was too excruciating and his repeated screams were exhausting. More pleading cries to his father escaped his lips, begging for help from his father, though they were starting to become instinct rather than purposeful. He was automatically going into a fetal position, trying to protect himself as much he could. There, with his eyes closed, he imagined his beginning. 

Who was his mother?

Luke had no idea. His being was so sapped that he couldn’t even create her in his thoughts. In this dreamlike escape, he was just a baby surrounded by white light. The young face of his father, Anakin Skywalker, peered through the light and approached his child. His face was stern and worried. Luke was crying and the young father didn’t know how to react. “My son,” he whispered, worried. He was frozen in place, staring at his child, unsure of how to help.

_Hold me. Protect me. Be a father_.

Anakin’s brow frowned as he held out his hands. He touched Luke’s cheeks and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be a father. You deserve better than me,” whispered Anakin to his son, the trembling tenor in his voice reminding Luke of his own. Luke held up his own tiny arms, welcoming his father regardless, accepting him despite his insecurities. The young man tentatively scooped up Luke in his arms and began to sob. 

“My son.”

The white vision suddenly disappeared. Luke was snapped back out of his delirious state as he heard screaming - screaming different from his own. Through his own weary and glazed eyes, he saw a storm of lightning shoot toward the ceiling until it all came spiraling down into the chasm below. He looked at the black garbed figure before him: he defeated the Emperor. His eyes peered deep into the armor and saw the soul of a father.

Vader was vanquished and Anakin Skywalker returned in his place.

Luke crawled over to his labored savior, gritting through the pain of his tight muscles and exhausted form. He wrapped his arms around the dark armor and gently allowed him to sink into his lap. “Father,” Luke sobbed, holding his remaining hand as the two recovered in silence.


	10. "Stay with me."

His bones ached and muscles tightened as he struggled to carry his father off to the hanger. In the pit of his soul, Luke tried to deny what was soon going to happen: his father would inevitably die. That couldn’t happen; not after all he had fought for, after he had finally saved him. Luke had to rescue him and give him the life he should have always had. Footsteps quickened as officers and troopers ran haphazardly around the station, hoping for an open escape pod or vacant vessel that would lead them to safety. Anything to stop their own impending doom. Strange looks were headed his way but they were fleeting and quick, unconcerned of their injured leader.

“Don’t worry, father,” Luke huffed, out of breath from the titanic weight of Vader slumped over his shoulders. The trek from the Emperor’s chambers was a long and exhausting one – by the time the two men made it to the hanger, most of the shuttles had been taken. There was still his father’s own personal shuttle though; only Vader had the code to get inside. “We are almost-“

The boy tripped over himself as he felt the muscle in his calf spasm, causing his father to fall to the floor by the nearby shuttle. Luke cursed under his breath and knelt down next to him, trying to force himself to collect his breath. His gripped the shoulders of Vader’s armor one last time – but he couldn’t pull. His strength was nearly completely spent. This couldn’t be the end, he had to save him, he owed it to him.

Vader placed his left hand on Luke’s wrist, motioning for him to stop.

“Help me take this mask off.”

“But you’ll die,” Luke said incredulously, choking back his own pitiful sob in the back of his throat. That wasn’t something he was ready for. This was his boyhood dream: he finally had his father back. They could run away together, hidden somewhere in the Outer Rim, making up on time lost. No one could understand this desire he had for a man that had done such evil, least of all his twin sister. 

“Nothing can stop that now,” Vader said, his breathing labored as the mechanical prosthesis began to fail. He squeezed Luke’s right hand with his left, doing whatever he could to soothe his son. “Just for once, let me look on you with my own eyes.”

The boy nodded to his father.

He slowly began pulling back the helmet of Darth Vader, his hands trembling as face of the mysterious Anakin Skywalker looked upon him from inside. The two men smiled at one another as Luke gently ran his hand across his shoulder. His father looked much older than Luke expected, his skin a ghostly white and burnt, but there was a kindly twinkle in his eyes that Luke could recognize within his own eyes. This was the man that he had always looked forward to meeting.

This was Anakin Skywalker.

“Now go, my son. Leave me,” his true voice shallow and destroyed.

“No,” Luke smiled, trying to deny the crushing reality. “You’re coming with me. I’ll not leave you here, I’ve got to save you.”

“You already have, Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped for a second as he realized his words. Vader – Anakin was right. Even if they weren’t going to have all the years that Luke so yearned for, he had the satisfaction of saving his father from damnation. He had done the impossible and saved a man so far gone, so corrupted, that no one else ever believed in. Not Obi-Wan. Not Yoda. Just a lonely boy that dreamed of a father.

“You were right about me,” Anakin smiled to his son. “Tell your sister.. you were… right.”

His voice trailed off as he began to fall back, his eyes closing as if he were awaiting his own ascension. Luke could feel the tears that he had kept dammed inside instantly begin to shed, truly feeling like a child pining for his parent. He kept both hands gripped on his father, steady droplets falling from his eyes and planting themselves onto the black armor. “Father,” was all Luke could cry out, one last time.

The cursed Anakin Skywalker, and the wicked Darth Vader, was finally saved of his lifelong anguish.


	11. Scars

“But at least we can finally relax now that Palpatine’s gone.”

Luke grinned at Han’s words. Somehow, the Jedi Knight had a feeling that his friend wouldn’t stay content for much longer. Through the white of his shining teeth, there was a thirst for more inside Solo. Han had revealed his true colors as a dedicated and loyal friend in the last five years; there wasn’t anyone else that Luke would rather be with - and considering the wedding that was just recently announced, they were all but genuine brothers at this point.

Han was ever still that adventurous rogue that was in it for the thrill. If it weren’t for Leia grounding him, Luke was sure that he would already be back on the Falcon looking for a new quest. That probably terrified both of the twins - how can it get more thrilling than taking on an evil Emperor and unseating a galactic empire? What trouble would he get into next?

“I’m sure this is only just the start, Han,” Luke said to his friend. The two men had just returned from a reconnaissance mission where they scouted the remnants of the Imperial forces. They were so elusive and quiet - obviously beaten but Luke couldn’t help but suspect something sinister waiting beneath. There was no proof of wrong-doing though, despite the swirling Force nagging at him otherwise. They did their duty and were finally back to base. Somehow, hanging around the old ready room made them both comfortable and at ease.

Where do they both go now?

The older man was already out of his suit and was opening his locker to change into something more relaxed. Luke nodded and nervously began to take off his shirt and trousers, leaving him in nothing but his underclothes, hoping that Han wouldn’t notice him. No one had seen his skin since his encounter with Palpatine - no one except for 2-1B. Translucent blue lines traced all over his body: they etched themselves starting at his shoulders and worked all the way down to his thighs. The only human eyes that had seen these rippling scars were his own.

“Kid?”

Luke jumped at Han’s curious voice. He lunged for the pair of tan pants in his locker, hoisting them up as quickly as he could. But he knew he had lingered for too long: Han’s eyes were like invisible daggers diving into his back. “It’s nothing, Han,” he said, furiously buttoning a long-sleeved black shirt.

“Stop it,” Han said, walking over to Luke and grabbing his gloved hand. He looked at his chest and frowned, his eyes following the delicate scars. “Leia said something about this, leftover from whatever Force or spells the Emperor used on you. I didn’t know they were this bad.”

“Really, Han, I’m fine,” Luke begged, which made his friend relent. This allowed Luke to relax and sit down on a nearby bench, slowly continuing to button his shirt. “It wasn’t a spell. It was lightning - some kind of Force lightning. 2-1B thinks that they’ll slowly fade over time.”

“But.. I mean.. does it hurt?”

**Yes**.

“No. Well, kind of, but that is going away too. It seems the Emperor wasn’t quite happy that we weren’t wanting to join him. But it isn’t like it compares to a year of being frozen in carbonite,” Skywalker joked. Han nodded but his eyes lingered toward the gloved hand. They hadn’t really talked much about it - what that was like. Over a year had passed since he lost it. 

“You’ve just been through so much, kid,” Han said, slouching down to sit next to his friend. Luke sensed an unusual warmness radiating from him. He grabbed Luke’s face and studied it carefully. “Though with that stubble you have coming in, I might just have to come up with another name for you. You **still **look strong enough to pull the ears off a gundark.”

He pulled Luke close to him and held him in his arms, so happy to be there with his friend - his soon-to-be brother. “You’re not **that **scruffy looking yourself,” Luke squeaked out, remembering their conversation at Echo Base nearly two years prior, enjoying this hug as much as he could. They both sat there with each other for a good minute, enjoying their silence and just so pleased to be safe and with one another. 

A long time had passed since they met in that Mos Eisley cantina.


End file.
